


I Offer You Survival (You Say It's Hard Enough to Live)

by Nighthaunting



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunk Alistair (Dragon Age), Gen, The False Calling Hurts, Warden Loghain, alistair is a sad bab, heavily implied loghain as maric's sad widow, heavily implied loghain has trouble resisting the urge to dad, loghain's guilty internal monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the Dragon Age Kink Meme: "A meeting between Drunken!Alistair and Warden!Loghain on the run."</p>
<p>Alistair is haunted by the false Calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Offer You Survival (You Say It's Hard Enough to Live)

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song 'Bling (Confessions of a King)' by the Killers

Loghain has been avoiding cities, for the most part, but he needs supplies and information to keep ahead of the other Wardens. There are enough bandit caves and hideouts that he rarely needs to risk venturing among the crowds, but some things can’t be scavenged; paper and ink are hard to come by in the wilderness and Loghain has enough need to make notes and maps as he searches out the truth of what’s befallen the Wardens. His distant youth spent learning every backroad and hiding place in the wilds of Ferelden haunts him. Any one of the bandit camps he takes for himself–turning in the bounties quietly to afford to keep running–could have been his father’s, and the rift that gapes between _then_ and _now_ is wide enough to swallow him if he lets himself hear the ghosts when he closes his eyes to sleep. It is enough, he tells himself, that disappearing is a skill it seems can never truly be forgotten.

It’s late when he finds the boy; or, rather, stumbles upon him. He’d recognize Meric’s son anywhere, even as he is now: unwashed and smelling like the floor of a taphouse. Loghain pauses, just for a moment, only meaning to make sure the boy– _Alistair_ , he remembers–is alive, and will find his way out of the narrow alley he’s slumped in eventually. He can’t not care for Maric’s children, even if he fails them more often than not. He’d thought Alistair soundly unconscious, but as soon as Loghain crouches next to him he wakes, suddenly, startling upright–or trying to, at least, the scent of ale on his breath clear–and then stilling suddenly when he notices he’s no longer alone. Loghain rocks back on his heels, ready to stand and leave Alistair to whatever life the boy had chosen for himself, when Alistair gasps out, “You!” and lunges for him.

They land hard, Loghain doesn’t understand what Alistair is slurring at him as they roll in the grit and mud of the alley, but he understands that he’s doing it loudly, and attention is the one thing Loghain can’t afford. He twists out of Alistair’s clumsy attempts to throttle him and punches him–hard–gratified when Alistair suddenly crumples, the fight gone out of him. Loghain staggers to his feet, dragging Alistair with him and leaning him against the wall.

There is a long moment where Alistair seems to pause again, gently massaging his jaw where Loghain hit him and clearing his head before speaking, “It’s really you,” he rasps, “You’re really here.”

“Yes,” Loghain says simply, because he knows himself well enough that if he tried to say more the words would only come out sharp and brittle. He deserves a greater measure of any scorn himself; for everything he’s done, and failed to do, so he keeps tongue behind his teeth and watches Alistair collect himself. 

“Why?” Alistair asks. 

“Grey Warden business. That doesn’t concern you beyond finding you in this alley and seeing if you were still alive,” Loghain says bluntly. He’s not uncharitable, but he’s stayed far too long here; if his curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him he’d already be back at his camp by now. 

The mention of the Wardens seems to alarm Alistair, and he finally seems to take in the whole of Loghain’s appearance: the gryphon crest on his half-plate, the deep blue of his studded armour, the sword and dagger at his waist, the spatters of mud, the wear of travel. 

“You’re lying,” Alistair says sharply, far too loudly for Loghain’s taste, “There were Wardens in the inn last week, talking about hunting a fugitive Warden.  I don’t know why you’ve waited ten years to track me down–”

“I’m not here for you,” Loghain repeats impatiently, “and I’ll tell you what’s going on, as long as we can go somewhere else,” he looks furtively towards the nearby alley mouth, and then further down the alley into the shadows. Standing still for this long in town grates on his nerves as clumsy and incautious. 

The prospect of news seems to calm Alistair, and he too looks around before gesturing for Loghain to follow him. It occurs to Loghain as he does that this could be a trap; he has never been accepted among his brethren, but his history is well-known enough that any particularly clever hunter could reason that it would be at least difficult for him to ignore a snare set with Meric’s son. They would have to know Alistair was Meric’s son in the first place though, and aside from a few others who knew the truth, Loghain felt reasonably secure that even the most determined tracker wouldn’t gamble on a drunkard’s claim of royal blood, if Alistair was foolish enough to make one. 

Alistair leads him to a shabby inn on the edges of town, sticking to the alleyways carefully enough that Loghain is convinced Alistair truly does believe the Wardens are hunting him. A rickety outer stair takes them to the cramped room Alistair lets there, and as soon a Loghain steps through the door Alistair is bolting it and whirling to face him. 

“If you aren’t here for me what are you here for?” Alistair asks, his tone almost wavering as he tries to demand an answer. There is a tightness around his eyes Loghain hadn’t noticed in the shadowed alley, and it dawns on him that Alistair–deserter he may be–is more than likely hearing the false Calling just as strongly as Loghain and their brethren. 

“Do you hear it, Alistair?” Loghain asks, voice barely above a whisper, but leaving no room for doubt about his meaning. 

Alistair flinches when Loghain says his name, but nods slowly. 

“Every Warden in Orlais is hearing it right now,” Loghain considers his words carefully as he says them, unsure of how much he can trust to tell Alistair, “They think it is the Calling, but I’m not so sure. I’m searching for answers about it.”

Alistair’s shoulders sag, and he lets out a deep breath, “You’re really not…”

“No,” Loghain says, and the boy looks so lost that it takes an effort of will to stay where he is and not step closer to Alistair. 

“This isn’t really…” 

“The Calling? No, the most I have been able to discover so far is that it is the invention of a Darkspawn to play on the Wardens’ fears.” 

There is a look of cautious relief unfolding on Alistair’s face, and Loghain lets his gaze slide away; unable to bear how strongly the boy resembles Meric. 

“If the Wardens aren’t looking for me, then who are they looking for?” Alistair asks. 

“That doesn’t concern you,” Loghain says, his instinct always to explain as little of himself as possible, no matter how much grief it has caused him in the past. 

 Alistair looks at him knowingly though, the expression on his face a perfect mirror to one Meric had worn many times, “It’s you they’re searching for, isn’t it?”

Loghain holds his silence, but that is admission enough. 

“Get out,” Alistair says lowly. He seems to shake himself, and the drunkard falls away leaving the man who called for his head before the Landsmeet. 

Loghain steps out the door when Alistair roughly undoes the bolt and wrenches it open, and he’s already halfway down the stairs when Alistair slams it shut behind him. 

He makes his way back to the camp he’s using in silence, and when he can finally bring himself to sleep he dreams that Maric sits close to the fire and despairs of the ruin Loghain’s made of his children. 


End file.
